“His father was assigned to the SVRrezidenturain New York.”
“What does he do when he’s not beating up women?”
“He works for a small subsidiary of NevaNeft. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s called the Haydn Group.”
Isabel sat upright and looked deliberately at the resplendentwood cabinetry and gold fittings of the dressing room. “No sauna or steam room?”
Arkady nodded toward a passageway.
“How much did you pay for the place?”
“I believe it was twenty-five million.”
“Anonymous purchase?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Omega Holdings?”
“Tradewinds Capital.”
“What about the place in Féchy? Is that Tradewinds, too?”
“Harbinger Management.”
“And who owns Harbinger?”
Arkady said nothing.
“Does he own NevaNeft, too?”
“Most of it.”
“Is any of it actually yours?”
“Oksana, I suppose. At least, she used to be.” He scooped up the towel from the floor and used it to wipe Isabel’s blood from the edge of the Jacuzzi. Absently, he asked, “When did you begin working for him?”
“Martin?”
“Gabriel Allon.”
Isabel didn’t bother with a denial. “How long have you known?”
“I’m the one asking the questions. And I would advise you to answer them quickly and truthfully. Otherwise, I’ll ask Felix to finish the job he started on that hand of yours.”
“I went to work for him not long after you murdered Viktor Orlov.”
“Are you a professional intelligence officer?”
“Heavens, no.”
“Were you the one who gave those documents to Nina Antonova?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Is that why you were fired from the Russian Laundromat?”
“No,” she answered. “That was Gabriel’s doing.”
